Athen had just stepped out of the club.
Cool air brushed her skin, carrying the faint scent of rain. She finally felt free, away from the stifling perfume, loud music, and that sleazy producer. Her pulse was steady again. For the first time that night, she could breathe.
She fished her phone from her bag, ready to call a taxi. But before she could tap the screen, a rough hand clamped around her wrist.
"What, hey! Let go!"
Her voice echoed through the nearly empty parking lot, but no one turned. Two men dressed in black stood beside her, silent and expressionless. The taller one yanked her forward.
"Who are you?!" she shouted, trying to pull back. "What do you think you're doing?"
They didn't answer. They didn't need to. The tight grip, the expensive suits, they weren't random strangers. These men were professionals.
"Wait! I didn't do anything!"
She twisted, kicked, struggled, but they were stronger. Within seconds, she was shoved into the back door of the club she had just left. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
And then the same hallway, the same lighting, the same door she had walked out of minutes ago.
Room 11.
Her stomach dropped.
Of course. That man. The one she'd just lectured. She should've known he couldn't handle being told off by a woman. He couldn't have taken just a little scratch in his ego. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "So, the mighty producer can't take a little bruise to his ego," she thought under her breath.
And that waiter too was there.
When the men pushed open the door and she was forced inside, her words died in her throat.
Because the man sat there, seated, calm, surrounded by bodyguards, he had the aura of Not a producer but a powerful and dangerous man.
She had saved him.
Athen had warned him about the drugged champagne, but she hadn't expected to see him again, not like this. When she saw the amount of the bodyguards in the room, her heart sank. Something was about to go down.
But she didn't even know any of them. Why was she being pulled into this?
They were pushed inside, they all stood there.
The waiter was the first to react. The moment he saw the man sitting at the table, he froze, his face draining of color. Then, as if his knees gave out, he dropped to the floor.
"P-Please, sir," he stammered, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean... I was just told to—"
Athen's gaze moved from the terrified waiter to the man seated in front of them.
Malachi Yates hadn't moved an inch since she'd last seen him. Same chair. Same calm posture. But everything about him felt different now.
The quiet arrogance she thought belonged to some spoiled producer was gone, replaced by something sharper, colder, infinitely more dangerous.
The room seemed to bend around his presence, the air thick with unease.
Athen couldn't find her voice. She didn't even know what to say, or who this man really was.
Because no ordinary music producer had that kind of authority.
No ordinary man had bodyguards who moved like soldiers.
Something didn't add up.
"It was him! He put the drug in the wine!" Stacy's voice cut through the air like glass. Seeing the waiter on his knees, trembling and begging, she knew he'd talk sooner or later. If she wanted to survive this, she had to act fast.
Athen blinked, still trying to process what was happening. So that was it. The drugged wine.
But why was _she_ here? Did this man want to thank her... or punish her?
Before she could think further, one of the bodyguards stepped forward, grabbed the waiter by the collar, and yanked him upright. Without a word, the guard's fist crashed into the man's jaw.
The sound was sickening.
The waiter fell to the floor with a grunt, two of his front teeth scattering, one hitting Stacy's handbag, the other rolling to stop right at Athen's feet.
Her stomach twisted. This wasn't a misunderstanding anymore. This was deadly serious.
And next… could be her.
Stacy dropped to her knees, voice trembling. "Mal, I'm sorry! I didn't mean for any of this to happen! It wasn't my fault!"
The man at the center of the chaos, Malachi, didn't move. His cold gaze flicked between them, silent but suffocating.
Athen didn't even have time to breathe before a hand shoved her forward. She stumbled, her knees almost giving out. "Ah!" The sound slipped out before she could stop it.
Normally, she'd have snapped back, thrown a glare, something, but now? Now, she knew better.
One wrong word and she might end up like the waiter.
Her small cry caught Stacy's attention. The woman turned, her face twisted with desperation.
"Yes! It was that woman!" Stacy shouted suddenly, pointing at Athen. "She's the one who worked with that waiter!"
Athen froze. "What, are you crazy?! I don't even know him!"
"Then how did you know the wine was drugged, huh?" Stacy snapped. "If you weren't involved, how could you know what was in it?"
Athen's pulse thundered. "Because I saw you!" she shot back, voice trembling but firm. "I saw you and that waiter putting something in the drink, in the hallway! You can check the CCTV if you think I'm lying!"
Her eyes flicked to Malachi. "Search her. Or him. You'll see I'm telling the truth."
The room fell silent for a beat, then chaos broke again.
"You liar!" Stacy screamed, lunging forward.
Athen didn't even see it coming. One second, Stacy was on her knees; the next, she was on her, nails and fury flying. Her hands tangled in Athen's hair, yanking hard enough to make her scalp sting.
"Are you insane?!" Athen yelled, trying to push her off. "You're attacking me for telling the truth?!"
If it were any other day, she'd have pulled that woman's hair back and given her a few slaps to remember, but right now, surrounded by guards, under his gaze… one wrong move could mean the end.
And yet, her patience was wearing thin. One more pull, and she was going to fight back.
One of the bodyguards grabbed Stacy by the arm and yanked her away before Athen could swing back. The sudden silence that followed was deafening. Even Stacy, who had been screaming seconds ago, shut her mouth.
Malachi didn't speak. He just raised a hand, a small, effortless gesture and the room fell still.
His gaze shifted toward the table. Toward the bottle.
No words were needed. The men understood immediately.
Two of them stepped forward, their movements sharp and practiced. They picked up the champagne bottle and poured its contents into three glasses the liquid bubbling faintly in the quiet.
Then, without warning, one guard kicked the unconscious waiter sprawled on the floor. The man groaned in pain, waking with a start, blood still trailing from his lip. He looked up, dazed and terrified.
Each of them the waiter, Stacy, and Athen was handed a glass filled to the brim.
"Finish it," Malachi said.
His tone wasn't loud, but it cut through the air like a blade.
The waiter's hands trembled as he lifted the glass, his teeth clicking against the rim. One gulp. Then another. He finished it, his chest heaving.
Stacy froze. Her lips parted, her eyes darting from the drink to Malachi.
She knew what was in it.
Her hand shook so badly she nearly dropped the glass. "M-Mal, please… I can't,"
Before she could finish, a bodyguard grabbed her chin, forcing her mouth open. The glass tilted. The liquid spilled over her lips as she choked and sputtered, some of it running down her dress.
"Swallow," the guard ordered coldly.
She did. She had no choice.
Athen's pulse was pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. She'd already realized, that drug wasn't harmless. She'd seen their faces twist after drinking it, seen fear replacing them and how their faces flashed within seconds after swallowing it.
And now one of the men was turning toward her.
Athen stumbled back, her breath catching. "Wait—no, listen!" she said quickly, voice shaking. "Producer Jones, I came alone! I don't know these people!" Her eyes darted toward him, desperate. "I even saved you!"